


Thoughts of Freedom

by stardust_and_sunlight



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hogwarts AU, M/M, Pre-Relationship, here's hoping, i was aiming for really sad then really happy so, was Maura16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 23:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7011733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardust_and_sunlight/pseuds/stardust_and_sunlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I bet your Boggart is a fucking failed test! It’s so easy for you to care about the causes, when will you start caring about the people? When will you start caring about your so-called friends?"</p>
<p>There's an argument. It hits a little closer to home than usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thoughts of Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> I have been writing this for SO long, literally, it might not seem like it, but I kept having blocks and then exams and just life but here it is! I was rereading Harry Potter. This is inspired by the one scene with Molly in OotP. You'll know when you read it.  
> Title is from the song [Creature](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9gDvHYiQGSo) by The Cat Empire which is just really fucking lovely.  
> Hope you like this, comments and kudos are so appreciated!

Grantaire was leaning back in his chair, multi-coloured butterflies trailing out the tip of his wand as he moved it in circles, sending the butterflies fluttering in spirals up towards the ceiling, when Enjolras stormed into the room.

They weren’t all here yet- it was early still. Cosette and Éponine, chatting in the corner; Combeferre, flicking casually through a book and listening with half an ear to Courfeyrac and Feuilly’s animated conversation about the effectiveness of a specific charm they’d come across in their reading; Marius, scribbling frantically on a ratty bit of parchment, ink splattered on his nose; Jehan with their head propped up on their hands, watching the butterflies absently.

Enjolras slammed the door shut behind him, dropping his bag onto a table with a thud. Grantaire raised his eyebrows.

“They run out of blonde hair dye?” he smirked, and Enjolras glowered at him.

“Is everything a joke to you?” he hissed, and Grantaire considered it.

“Funny things are,” he said, and he flicked his wand, watching with satisfaction as the butterflies burst into a multitude of colourful bubbles, and then dissolved into a shower of glitter.

Jehan and Marius ‘ooh’ed, and Enjolras scowled. Combeferre shut his book, carefully marking the page, and turned his attention towards Grantaire.

“That was a nice bit of spellwork,” he said critically, tilting his head slightly. “Where did you find that?”

Grantaire smiled awkwardly, shoving his wand in his pocket. “I sort of invented it? Adapted it from a few others,” he added hurriedly, as Combeferre raised a questioning eyebrow. “It’s nothing major, I’ve been working on a few other ones as well, this is just a nice one, I just…” he stuttered into silence. “What?”

“That’s impressive,” Combeferre said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Creating new spells, that’s remarkable.”

“Oh,” Grantaire said, sure his face was bright red at this small praise. “Thank you.”

Combeferre smiled at him, turning to Enjolras, who still looked angry, and whispering something to him. Grantaire leaned back in his chair again, as Joly, Bossuet and Chetta tumbled into the room.

“Sorry we’re late!” Chetta apologised, as they all grabbed chairs and shed bags and cloaks. “We still waiting on anyone else?”

“Bahorel can’t make it today,” Jehan said ruefully. “He’s got detention again.”

A chorus of groans and sighs broke out, and Feuilly laughed. “It’s his own fault, really,” he said, rolling his eyes. “He should know by now not to talk back to Javert.”

Éponine chuckled. “I think he does it deliberately to get out of these meetings,” and everyone laughed, falling suddenly silent as Enjolras got to his feet.

“Shall we start, then?” he said, raising an eyebrow, and the meeting began.

*****

It wasn’t that the meeting was boring as such, more that Grantaire was tired and had a very low attention span and while Enjolras was a brilliant speaker, he also had a tendency to use too many statistics, and talk about them in excruciating detail.

Grantaire had zoned out five minutes ago and was doodling aimlessly on a spare scrap of parchment. He made a mental note to buy more paper- parchment and quills were great for the aesthetic, and for some styles of drawing, but they were so _inconvenient_ and old-fashioned.

He drew a biro pen and a quill, quick and rough, and then gave them eyebrows, eyes, angry faces. He looked at it for a while, thinking, and then gave them arms, punching each other. He pondered for a second longer, tilting his head to one side, and added wings to the quill. And then he scowled and scrunched the parchment into a ball, flicking it across the table at Éponine, who glowered at him.

_Pay attention,_ she mouthed, and Grantaire put down his pen and turned to face Enjolras, resolving to listen for at least the next ten minutes. He blinked, trying to catch the thread of the speech, and then winced. Enjolras had been talking about Veelas, and the discrimination they faced, but it appeared that the conversation had moved on, and he was now talking about werewolf unemployment rates. Lovely. Enjolras had brought statistics and all sorts of data and he was spouting them off with a strange mix of passionate caring and clinical detachment.

Grantaire closed his eyes, feeling slightly sick as Enjolras talked about prejudice and discrimination and how there was no support system and it wasn’t that Grantaire hadn’t heard these things before. He’d done his research and he knew he was fucked but to hear Enjolras say it…

“I’m sorry, am I boring you?” Enjolras’ voice was irritated, and Grantaire’s eyes sprang open. Enjolras was glaring at him. “No, by all means, go back to sleep.”

Grantaire’s jaw tightened, and Enjolras pursed his lips. “Do you have anything to add on this topic?”

And Grantaire had had enough. Enjolras’ disparaging tone, combined with his own impotent anger about his future, was all too much, and he felt the rage well up inside him, fighting to keep his cool, as he spoke in a calm, controlled, carefully unaffected voice. “Yeah, actually,” he drawled, leaning back in his seat. “You say it’s all futile, that werewolves have no chance. You say that people are stuck in their opinions and their prejudices and there’s no justice system in place.”

Éponine was tense in the corner, looking at him worriedly, and Combeferre looked concerned, but no-one else was bothered. Why would they be? This was just another one of Enjolras and Grantaire’s arguments. They didn’t know how close this hit to home.

“Yes,” snapped Enjolras. “What’s your point?”

“What’s _the_ point?” Grantaire retorted. “What’s the point in talking about it and campaigning to no-one, what’s the point in wasting your time and effort when nothing’s going to change?

Enjolras looked like he’d been punched. “How do you know nothing’s going to change? How do you know until you try? You can’t give up on something before it’s even started, just because you think it might fail! Maybe if you actually tried, you would have known that? Or why don’t you just go back to your doodles and spells and pointless pieces of cutesy distraction, why are you here if you think we’re going to fail?”

Grantaire leaped to his feet, his pen rolling onto the floor as he banged the table, suddenly angrier than he should be, and everyone flinched, Éponine rising half out of her chair as if to intervene.

“Yeah, by all means let’s try! Let’s try to do something pointless and hopeless and something that’s a _fucking waste of time_! This isn’t some law you can petition to change, this is humans, humans being irrational self-absorbed pricks, and you can’t change hundreds of years’ worth of people fearing and hating werewolves, no matter how many pretty speeches you give!”

Enjolras drew in a shuddering breath. “Just because people think a certain way doesn’t mean they’re never going to change! Mostly they’re ignorant, unaware, blindly following-”

Grantaire scoffed. “Fucking _bullshit._ Merlin knows I wish I could believe you, but even you can’t change human nature. Why not stick to things you actually have a chance of changing? The department for the protection of half-breeds is underfunded and understaffed and no-one cares about it and why don’t you just accept that there’s some things you can’t change-”

“Because that’s not who I am!” bellowed Enjolras, and his face was red with anger and his hands were clenched. “I won’t give up on this and there is never no point and I’m sure you can’t see past your negativity and your irrational bitterness at the world and your _cynicism_ and-”

“Irrational? Irrational bitterness? And of course, you’d know I had no _rational_ reason because of all the times you’ve talked to me-”

“Well maybe if you actually voiced some real opinions, formed some real arguments, we could talk! Maybe then I would be able to care about what you’re saying, but right now I just can’t believe that you’ve interrupted this meeting again to play Devil’s advocate or just to mess things up or talk about god knows what-”

Grantaire laughed humourlessly. “You’d care? You don't care about anything except your perfect grades and your precious causes! I bet your Boggart is a fucking failed test! It’s so easy for you to care about the causes, when will you start caring about the _people?_ When will you start caring about your so-called _friends?_ "

Enjolras stiffened with anger, and Grantaire waited for his response, waited for the rage, waited for something, anything... And then Enjolras turned on his heel and left. 

“Ah, shit,” Grantaire said, standing stock still, shocked by Enjolras’ sudden departure… and then his knees gave out, and he slumped down in his chair, dropping his head into his hands.

There was silence in the room, everyone tensed, waiting. Grantaire could feel the weight of their stares. He looked up, face still red from yelling, brain churning, guilt and anger and regret boiling through him.

Éponine sank back into her chair, looking at him, brown eyes concerned and pitying. Everyone looked worried, but he avoided their eyes, breathing heavily.

Combeferre shifted in his seat, and Grantaire’s head snapped up, meeting Combeferre’s gaze. The other boy’s eyes were clear and calm behind his glasses, but Grantaire recoiled under the weight of them.

“Don’t you fucking bring down judgment on me,” Grantaire snapped, “he was in the wrong too, and _you_ know that,” and he was on his feet and out the door before anyone could say anything, ignoring their calls.

He stormed along the corridor, not knowing where he was going, just _away away away._ He pulled out his wand, conjuring the butterflies from before with an incantation, sending them fluttering around him, and then he vanished them with a snarl. What worth were they, after all. _Pointless pieces of cutesy distraction,_ Enjolras had said. And he wasn’t wrong.

Grantaire pushed open the door of an old unused classroom, one that they sometimes practised bigger spells in, just looking for somewhere to sit down, vaguely remembering a couch of some kind. His head was full to bursting, full of self-loathing and the remnants of his futile argument and he just needed a bit of peace. He stepped into the dimly lit room, certain that no-one would be in here… and there was Combeferre, lying on the ground, glasses broken and head bleeding, and definitely dead. 

Grantaire shuddered to a halt, heart in his mouth and terror freezing through him. No... No. He'd left Combeferre downstairs not two minutes ago, it couldn't possibly be...

And then a figure moved in the shadows, stepping forward, raising their wand. Grantaire's hand went to his wand instinctively, but who could have gotten in here? And then he recognised the figure, light bouncing off blonde hair. 

_Enjolras_ , Grantaire realised, and his hand fell away from his wand as Enjolras spoke. 

"Riddikulus," he said, voice shaking, and with a resounding crack, the figure on the floor changed. And now it was dead Courfeyrac, legs askew.

Enjolras _whimpered_ , there was no other word for it. 

"Riddikulus." _Crack._ Dead Feuilly, ginger hair matted with blood. "Riddikulus." _Crack_. Dead Éponine, her dark hair fanning out around her head. "Riddikulus." _Crack_. Dead Jehan. "Riddikulus." _Crack._ Dead Marius. 

Grantaire watched, horrified and terrified and frozen to the spot as Enjolras grew even less composed with every attempt at the spell, voice cracking. 

"R-riddikulus." _Crack_. Dead Bahorel. Dead Bossuet. Dead Joly. Dead Musichetta. Dead Cosette, oh and Enjolras sobbed, and Grantaire almost moved then, almost stepped towards him, but Enjolras raised his wand, arm shaking, and said the spell again, voice almost unrecognisable. 

"R-r-riddikulus."

And then Grantaire was staring at his own body, twisted and broken and lying on the floor, and Enjolras let out a heart-wrenching sob, and Grantaire was moving, stepping in front of Enjolras.  
The Boggart changed, becoming the familiar dreaded full moon, and Grantaire spoke, saying firmly, in a voice that belied his terror, _"riddikulus",_ and the moon sunk down, and the sun rose, shining brightly for a moment before vanishing. 

Grantaire turned to Enjolras, who had sank to the ground and was shuddering, staring helplessly at the spot where Grantaire's body had lain, not two seconds ago. 

Grantaire went to his knees besides him, and noticed with a jolt that Enjolras was crying, tear tracks down his cheeks, face twisted and breath coming in gasps. 

"Hey, no, it's okay," Grantaire said helplessly. "I'm here, I'm not dead, and the others are safe, they're all okay..." 

Grantaire didn't know what to do. Enjolras, who'd always been strong and steadfast and seemingly scathing of all weakness. Enjolras, who he'd admired from afar and mocked up close. Enjolras who was made of marble and was unyielding and was sobbing on the floor of this dusty room in this unused wing of Hogwarts. 

Grantaire reached out, wrapping his arms around Enjolras, who stiffened and then melted into the hug, shoulders heaving, sobs racking his body. 

“It’s gonna be okay, everyone’s safe and alive and well and we’re all going to be okay, we’re safe, we’re all alive, it’s gonna be alright…” Grantaire whispered, a constant unending litany of words, not knowing what he was saying but trying to help, and Enjolras wept like his heart was breaking.

Grantaire didn’t know how long they sat there for, but Enjolras’ sobs eventually subsided, and when he finally, reluctantly pulled away from the hug, Grantaire’s legs were all pins and needles and his back was aching.

Enjolras’ eyes were red and swollen, his face blotchy from crying, and he drew back, covering his face with his hands.

“Hey,” Grantaire said softly. “It’s okay. Here,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the packet of tissues he carried everywhere (Joly was prone to nosebleeds and magic could be a bit temperamental at fixing that), handing them over to Enjolras, who took them with a mumbled thank you , wiping his eyes and blowing his nose.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered under his breath, and Grantaire stared at him. “What? Why?”

Enjolras looked at him. “Sorry for crying on you?” he said, as if it was obvious, and Grantaire laughed.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Grantaire scoffed, and he reached out without thinking, holding Enjolras’ hands tight in his own.

“I understand, you know,” he said quietly. “The fear, that we could all die at any minute. But we’re gonna be okay. No no no-” he said louder, as Enjolras opened his mouth to speak, “we’re gonna be okay. We have each other and we’re gonna make it through.”

“But how can you say that?” Enjolras burst out, anger in his voice. “How do you know? There’s going to be a war! We’re still at school! We’re good, but we’re only teenagers!” But he didn’t pull his hands away from Grantaire’s.

“We’ve got each other,” Grantaire said, and then winced at the cheesiness of it, but Enjolras smiled faintly.

“That’s true,” he said, and sniffed, pulling his hands away from Grantaire’s and rubbing at his red eyes. “Thank you,” he muttered, quiet and sincere, and Grantaire smiled.

Grantaire shifted his weight, legs aching. “Shall we go back?” he asked tentatively.

Enjolras sighed. “Yeah, that’s probably the best idea. But, umm, before we leave…” he started, hesitantly. Grantaire looked at him in surprise. They were still sitting very close together, and Grantaire could see the sudden uncertainty in Enjolras’ face.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Grantaire asked encouragingly, bumping Enjolras’ thigh with his knee.

“Your boggart,” Enjolras said, and it wasn’t a question, wasn’t an accusation, but Grantaire stiffened, mind roiling, body moving back without him even thinking about it, putting distance between him and Enjolras, getting away from the inevitable disgust.

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” Enjolras said, and he reached out and grabbed Grantaire’s hands, an odd reversal of their previous position. “It’s alright.”

Grantaire was breathing fast, panicking, shallow breaths as he imagined all the possible reactions Enjolras could have… but Enjolras was _holding his hands_ , rubbing his thumb comfortingly across Grantaire’s palm. Enjolras wasn’t flinching away or looking down on him, Enjolras was smiling at him, eyes  worried, yes, but worried for him, not scared because of him.

“You… you don’t mind?” Grantaire choked out, body still tensed.

Enjolras squeezed his hands and looked at him, voice sincere. “Of course not! You’re the same person, this isn’t your fault!”

He stilled suddenly, looking horrified, and Grantaire flinched. “No, no, it’s not you,” Enjolras said reassuringly, biting his lip. “I just. I’m so so sorry about earlier. I should have… I should never have… I would… I’m sorry,” he said, looking guilty. “I never would have been so blasé about it, I would have talked to you beforehand,” and he was so earnest, so worried, that Grantaire couldn’t help but laugh, shaky and hoarse.

“It’s alright,” he said, “I’ve heard it all before.”

Enjolras looked stricken. “That doesn’t make it okay! And Grantaire,” and he looked directly into Grantaire’s eyes, “your bitterness isn’t irrational. I’m so sorry for what you must have experienced, and I’m sorry for assuming you had nothing to be angry about. I should have paid more attention.”

“No, it’s fine,” Grantaire said awkwardly, “not many people noticed.”

Enjolras furrowed his brow. “Who else knows?”

“Éponine worked it out after about three months back in first year,” he said, smiling at the memory. Éponine had punched him for not telling her and then hugged him so tight he couldn’t breathe. “And then I didn’t really have any other friends for a few years, and then what, it was fourth year when we started hanging out with you guys? Combeferre knows. I think Chetta suspects something, she sometimes gives me really big random hugs, but she hasn’t said anything…”

“You know no-one would mind, right? None of the group, none of your friends?” Enjolras said earnestly.

Grantaire smiled ruefully. “Yeah, but it’s hard to break so many years of having to keep it a secret and knowing people will hate you if you told. I will, one day, soon.”

Enjolras squeezed his hands. “I’ll help you, whenever and however you choose to do it,” he whispered, and Grantaire realised for the first time how close they were, almost in each other’s laps. It would be so easy, so easy to lean forward and kiss him…

Enjolras’ eyes were bright and shining and as Grantaire went to move back, Enjolras shifted closer to him, resting his forehead against Grantaire’s. “Not just now,” he breathed, and Grantaire swallowed, the movement uncomfortably obvious. “It’s been a bit of a rough evening, and I’d like this… I’d like it to be perfect,” he said, uncharacteristically awkward.

Grantaire laughed, the sound quiet but oh so happy. “Enjolras,” he murmured, “would you like to go on a date with me?”

Grantaire could just see the curve of Enjolras’ lips as he grinned. “Yes please,” he said, so enthusiastic, and Grantaire pulled away from him to watch him laugh.

“We should really go back now, though,” Grantaire said regretfully, “the others will be worried.”

Enjolras sighed, nodding in agreement, and then they dropped hands, stumbling to their feet, wincing at the pins and needles. Grantaire turned towards the door, but Enjolras grabbed his hand, looking straight at him.

“I think you’re wrong about one thing though,” he said, voice stronger and more sure of himself. “People can change, people’s opinions will change. We’re all going to work to make it better, and we _can_ do it. I promise.”

And usually Grantaire would scoff and ask how he could possibly promise that, how did he know, how could he have such faith… But Enjolras’ eyes were bright and his face was tight with conviction and his hand was holding tight to Grantaire’s, and he looked so beautiful and for once Grantaire kinda believed that maybe it would all work out.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/holIyshort) -come and say hi!


End file.
